


Practice Room

by Clare_Hope



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coffee Shops, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mentioned Character Death, Musical Instruments, Panic Attacks, Trans Male Character, referenced transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 04:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clare_Hope/pseuds/Clare_Hope
Summary: Somebody barges into Hartley's practice room. This turns out to not be quite as terrible of a thing as Hartley first assumes it to be.





	Practice Room

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this for Cisco Week on tumblr (@ciscoweek). It's more of a HS AU than coffeeshop AU but it does involve a coffeeshop lol. Also I wrote this like 2 years ago so it's Not Great? Anyway. Enjoy! <3

“This is my practice room.”

Hartley looked up from his sheet music. “Excuse me?” he said.

Leaning against the doorframe of the practice room with a cheap soft-shell guitar case slung over his shoulder with a worn out shoulder-strap, his shoulder length hair tied back in a messy ponytail, the boy who had spoken repeated, “This is  _ my _ practice room. Mr. Wells said I could use it.”

“I have this room reserved from after school gets out until 4:30,” Hartley informed him. “And I won’t be giving it up to someone who comes to a  _ private school _ that has a  _ uniform _ wearing a t-shirt that says  _ Keep Calm and Han Shot First _ .”

“It’s my first day. And the uniform they sent me first was the wrong...size.” The boy looked around at the practice room, where there was a large piano, a keyboard, a drum set, an upright bass, and several smaller instruments scattered around. “Yo, this place is so dope!”

“What a coincidence,” Hartley said dryly. “We were thinking of making ‘yo, this place is so dope’ the new Star School slogan.”

The boy didn’t seem to notice Hartley’s sarcasm. “So, you play the flute?” he asked.

“I play everything.”

“Cool, cool. Very modest. I play guitar.”

Hartley held his breath for a second, trying to gather his patience. “I couldn’t have guessed.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause the…” The boy gestured to the guitar case. “Yeah, I’ve gotta practice. So can I have the room?”

Hartley stared. “No, you may not have the room,” he said finally. “I told you, I have it reserved until 4:30. It’s only 3:10.”

“Yeah, but Mr. Wells said--”

“I don’t care what he told you. Unless he tells me himself to give you the room, I’m staying put.”

Suddenly, Mr. Wells appeared over the boy’s shoulder. “Problem, boys?” he asked.

Hartley sat up straight. “Mr. Wells, this boy is telling me that you said he could take the room from me.”

“I did say that.”

Shocked, Hartley exclaimed, “But--but I have it reserved for every day this month!”

“Exactly. You have plenty of time to practice tomorrow, and the next day, and the rest of the week, and the week after that. And as soon as reservation times become available for next month, you’ll have that, too. Cisco here only needs the room today to practice for his audition tomorrow, although I have no doubt that he will be placed in the highest level music class. From what I've seen, he is quite the guitarist.” Mr. Wells placed his hand on Cisco’s shoulder.

Hartley was furious, but he couldn't say anything. “Yes, sir.” He packed up his flute and stacked his sheet music neatly before walking out of the room, deliberately shoving Cisco with his shoulder.

“Thanks, man,” Cisco said. “See you around.” The practice room door closed, leaving Hartley and Mr. Wells standing in the band room.

Hartley turned to Mr. Wells. “Sir?”

“He shows a lot of promise.”

_ That's my practice room, though. And my advanced music class. I've been top of the class for a year and a half now.  _ But Hartley forced himself to keep his emotions in check. “Are you sure it's wise to assume he's going to get into the advanced class?” Hartley asked. “I mean, expectations can lead to bias, and bias can lead to outcomes that aren't what should have happened in the first place.”

Mr. Wells offered him a calm smile. “You're not jealous, are you?”

“I…” Hartley sputtered for a second.

“Hartley. You're still my guy.”

He didn't want it to, but the reassurance worked. “Okay,” Hartley mumbled. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Now go home, Hartley. Perhaps you could practice at home.”

“I...I can't. It annoys my parents,” Hartley admitted. “They prefer if I make no noise at all.”

“Ah. Well, then, I'll excuse you from having learned your new piece by tomorrow. It can be due on Thursday.” Mr. Wells patted Hartley on the shoulder. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” Hartley knelt down to put his flute case and sheet music into his backpack and then headed out, adjusting his hearing aids from the settings he had for playing music.

After leaving campus, Hartley stopped. He had no idea where to go. There was no way he was going home yet. His parents didn't expect him home until a little before 5, so he could go wherever he wanted until then. He ended up in a coffee shop called Jitters, sitting by the window with a cup of tea and his physics textbook.

About forty-five minutes later, Cisco walked into the coffeeshop. He stood at the counter and ordered a triple shot espresso. He didn't seem to see Hartley, who was trying his best to hide behind his book. However, it was in vain, because Cisco got his coffee, spotted Hartley, and made a beeline for him. “Hey!” he greeted cheerfully. “Do you come here a lot?”

“No.”

“Cool, cool. I come here all the time. It was a little out of my way when I walked to Central High, but it's right smack in between my house and Star. Just one more bonus of switching to the new school.”

_ What about my demeanor could possibly indicate to this kid that I want to keep talking to him? _ “Uh-huh.” Hartley kept trying to read his book.

But Cisco sat down at the table and put his backpack and guitar case on the ground. “So, did I catch your name right? It's Harley, isn't it?”

“Har _ t _ ley,” he corrected automatically. “Hartley Rathaway.”

“Rathaway? Wow! Like--”

“My father owns Rathaway Inc.”

Cisco whistled. “I'm guessing you're not at Star on scholarship like I am, then.”

Hartley chose to ignore that.

“Oh, I'm Cisco, by the way. Francisco Ramon, but I go by Cisco.” He held his hand out to shake.

Realizing that Cisco wasn't just going to go away, Hartley put his book down and shook his hand quickly. “That's nice.”

“So, you're in the music program?” Cisco asked.

_ I really do not want to  _ chat _ with him. _ “Yep.”

“Is it good? I mean, obviously it's good, it's one of the most renowned high school music programs in the country, but is it  _ good _ ? From the inside? Mr. Wells seems like an absolute genius, and like, a great teacher, so what's the catch? Is there so much homework you can't get anything done? Does the classroom have no air conditioning? Are none of the girls cute?” Cisco rambled.

“Um…” Hartley tried to answer his questions as briefly as possible. “There's plenty of homework. The classroom does have air conditioning. And I'm not the person you should ask about cute girls.”

“How about guys, then?” Cisco asked immediately, throwing Hartley completely off. “I mean, I swing every-which-way, so…”

Flustered, Hartley responded, “They're alright, I suppose? Nothing spectacular.”  _ Although to be honest, you're hotter than all of the rest of the guys in my class combined _ , he added privately. Well, at least Cisco hadn't reacted negatively to Hartley basically outing himself.

“Nice. Any of ‘em not straight and single?”

“I...really don't know them that well,” Hartley admitted. “I keep to myself. I prefer it that way.” Surely that was enough of a hint.

Still, Cisco made no move to get up and leave. “So, you said you play  _ everything _ , but what does that really mean?”

“I can learn any instrument I want, pretty fast. But I do flute in the band. I pick up first violinist in the orchestra if they're short of decent players, which they usually are. And piano.”

“My brother Dante plays piano,” Cisco informed him. “My parents want him to do it professionally, but all he wants to do is play soccer. Honestly, neither of those are really good career options, but we can't convince him to consider anything else.”

“How about you?” Hartley found himself asking. “Other than guitar, what are you going to do?”

“Oh, I'm gonna be a mechanical engineer.”

Hartley raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah, I've got to do well at Star so I get a scholarship to a really good college. I'll be the first Ramon to go to college. It was supposed to be my brother, but…”

“But he wants to play soccer,” Hartley finished.

Cisco hesitated, then shook his head. “No...actually, I was talking about my other brother. Armando. He died three years ago.”

“Oh.” Hartley didn't know what to say. “Sorry.”

“I don't talk about it much,” Cisco said, shrugging. “Um, so, look...I've got to go. My dad wants me home for dinner because he can't cook at all. Like, he tried to microwave a steak once. But I was wondering...I don't know anyone at this school, all my friends went to Central High. And I know that we didn't get off to such a great start--sorry for kicking you out of your practice room, by the way--but can we exchange phone numbers? Just so I have  _ someone's  _ number at the school.”

“Um…” Hartley hesitated. He didn't usually give people his number. “Sure. Okay.”  _ Doesn't mean I actually have to talk to him. _

They exchanged numbers quickly. “Thanks, man. See you around!” Cisco swung his guitar over his shoulder and grabbed his coffee before heading out.

Hartley glanced at the time on his phone. It was 4:45. “Oh, shit,” he muttered. He gave the barista a very generous tip and ran outside as fast as he could. Ten minutes later, he arrived at his front gate, panting. He had hardly waited for the gate to open before slipping through, his backpack catching on one of the metal spikes. “Shit, shit, shit!”

_ If I didn't play a wind instrument _ , he thought to himself as he straightened his collar and knocked on the front door,  _ I would have passed out a minute ago and been so royally fucked that I'd have been grounded for a month for missing curfew. _ A servant opened the door to let him in.

“Hartley. You're almost late,” said Rachel Rathaway from her seat in the parlor.

“But I'm not late, am I?” retorted Hartley. “It's 4:59.” The clock struck 5.

“Don't take that tone with me. Are you out of breath?”

“No.” Hartley began to head upstairs.

“Dinner is at 6:30. Do your homework and be downstairs by then.” Rachel opened up her magazine and started reading. “And try to lose the attitude before your father gets home.”

Hartley said nothing, and continued to his room. He dropped his backpack and his flute case onto his desk and collapsed backwards onto his bed. He pulled the jacket and tie of his school universe off and flung them onto the floor. “Ughhhhh,” he groaned loudly.

He rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow to muffle his scream of frustration.  _ I wonder if I can get away with pretending to be sick tomorrow? _

_ Probably not _ , he decided eventually. His parents would either not believe him, or he would be convincing enough that they'd send him to a doctor. And then when it came to light that he wasn't ill at all, he would be in a hell of a lot of trouble. He was always in a hell of a lot of trouble. Never could do anything right. And if they ever found out that he was gay…

Suddenly, he panicked. He had outed himself to Cisco. What if Cisco mentioned it to another student? Or a teacher? Almost everyone at Star School belonged to the same social group as his parents, and they did all so love to gossip. This one piece of news was juicy enough that it would spread to his parents in a matter of days. He was pulling his phone out and finding Cisco’s name in his contacts before he even really realized what he was doing.

“Uh, yeah, hello?” Cisco sounded distracted. “Dante! If you throw that soccer ball at me, so help me,  _ no tendrás ninguna cena _ .  _ ¡No estoy bromeando! _ Sorry, hey, Hartley. What's up?”

Hartley could barely breathe. He ducked quickly into the closet and closed the door, not even appreciating the irony. “Um, I h-have to…” His words came between ragged gasps.

“Whoa, hey! Are you alright? Dante, no,  _ ¡callate! _ Stir the pasta sauce for a minute, I think this is important. Sorry, my brother is a dick. Are you okay?”

“I have t-to ask you s-something.”

“Sure, sure. What's up?”

Hartley sat down on the floor behind some long coats, pressing himself into the dark corner. “Wh-when I t-told you…” He was whispering, to avoid any chance that his mother or any servant would hear. “Wh-when I told you th-that…”

“Why are you whispering? Hey, calm down, okay? Take a few deep breaths. I'm sure everything is going to be fine.”

Hartley tried to take a deep breath, his chest constricted. “I n-need you t-to...I told you...I told you that I'm...accidentally s-said...that I'm...g-gay,” he managed, dropping his voice even further.

“Yeah? I figured that out, yeah. What about it?” Cisco asked.

“I n-need you to n-not tell anyone,” Hartley pleaded. “Please.”

“Oh! Of course, I wouldn't do that. Is that what you're freaking out about?”

“I…”

“Because I'd never out someone without their permission.”

Hartley started to calm down. His heart wasn't pounding quite as fast. “Oh. Okay. Th-thanks. Sorry for calling, I just realized...and if anyone found out, I…”

“Hey, it's fine. Don't worry about it. Your secret’s safe with me, pal. And hey, if you ever want to talk to someone about it, I'm around.”

“Thanks.” Hartley cleared his throat, a little embarrassed that he had let someone see him like that. Well, hear him. “Goodbye, Cisco.”

“Bye. See you ‘round.  _ ¡Si,  _ Dante _ , voy en camino! _ Sorry. Bye!”

Putting the phone down, Hartley leaned his head against the wall and sniffed. He hadn't quite gotten out of the panic attack yet, and he could feel hot tears burning at his eyes. He blinked them away, considering.  _ I've got enough time to break down and put myself together before dinner,  _ he thought, and allowed himself to sob into one of the coats hanging in the closet.

After wearing himself out, he wiped his eyes and left the closet. Wincing at the sudden bright light, he stumbled over to the bathroom, got a washcloth damp with cold water, and pressed it to his eyes. He counted to twenty and then checked. The red puffiness had almost disappeared. “Okay,” he breathed. “That's fine.”

He sat cross-legged on the ground to try and do his homework, but didn't get much further than his calculus before he had to change for dinner. After a quiet, uncomfortable dinner, he lay in the dark on top of all the covers and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

He didn’t see Cisco at school the next day, but he was there in music class on Thursday. Hartley had gotten there twenty minutes before school started to go over his assigned piece in the practice room, and came out five minutes before the bell rang. Normally, nobody was there until after the first bell rang, but there was Cisco. He was wearing the school uniform that day.

“You got your uniform,” Hartley said by way of greeting.

Cisco jumped and turned around. “Oh! Didn’t see you there.”

“I was in the practice room.”

“Of course. And, uh, yeah. I cleared it up with them, they sent me the right one. How do I look?”

Hartley narrowed his eyes. To be honest, Cisco had looked a lot better in the t-shirt and jeans. The uniform didn’t quite fit him--it seemed to stretch in strange places, and the sleeves and pant legs were slightly too long. “You look uncomfortable,” Hartley decided.

Cisco laughed. “That obvious? Yeah, it’s really not built for...well, anyway, I’m not used to wearing stuff like this. Does it ever get less itchy?”

“After about a month of washing.”

“Great.” 

“So...I’m guessing your audition went well?”

Cisco brightened. “Yeah! I think I aced all the tests that Mr. Wells gave me. He said I was one of the finest guitar players he’s ever seen at my age.”

Hartley felt a twinge of jealousy. “Well. That’s nice.” The bell rang. Hartley sat down in his seat, ignoring Cisco’s slightly hurt look.

Mr. Wells came into the band room from his office, and the rest of the students rushed in from outside. There was Caitlin, a junior who played violin excellently, her boyfriend of two years, Ronnie, who was a composer, and several others. Caitlin sat down next to Cisco and immediately struck up a conversation with him. Hartley tried to ignore them, but couldn’t help but pick up most of what they said, thanks to his left hearing aid that seemed to be fond of honing into the frequency of certain voices.

“Hi! You must be Cisco. I heard we were getting a new classmate! I’m Caitlin Snow.”

“Hey, nice to meet you.”

“Welcome to Star School. That’s my boyfriend, Ronnie. You know Mr. Wells, of course…” Caitlin went on to point out the rest of the class and then lowered her voice into a whisper. “And that’s Hartley.”

“Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“He’s a bit distant, isn’t he?”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem  _ that _ bad.”

“He’s never anything but rude to us all,” Caitlin whispered.

“Huh.” Cisco paused. “He really doesn't seem that bad.”

Hartley tuned them out. He didn't blame Caitlin for warning Cisco about him. She was right. He  _ was  _ always rude to them. He kept them at arm's length with insults and condescending stares, not daring to let anyone get near his spot at the top of the class. And certainly never letting them get close to  _ him _ . He couldn't trust them, any of them, and if he befriended one and opened up to them, told them his secret...well, they would turn on him, in all likelihood. So he didn't risk it.

Then Cisco had come along, and Hartley had slipped up for one second. That was all it had taken, and his safety and future lay in someone else's hands. And though he didn't blame Caitlin, she was turning Cisco against him with her well-meaning warnings. That could mean the difference, quite literally, between life and death.

Hartley found that he was having trouble breathing. Just before Mr. Wells could start class, Hartley stood up and told him quietly that he needed to go to the bathroom and adjust his hearing aids. Mr. Wells let him go, of course. That would buy him ten minutes or so.

Rushing through the hall to the bathroom, Hartley tried desperately to calm himself down. But as he locked himself in a stall, he let loose a sob and couldn't hold back more. Hoping beyond hope that nobody would come into the bathroom, Hartley pulled himself together, washed his face, and went back to class pretending that he hadn't just had a panic attack.

He spent the rest of the day barely holding back his panic. As soon as the final bell rang, he went back to the music room. Mr. Wells was in his office. Cisco was just heading out. “Hartley!” he exclaimed.

Hartley nodded tightly. He started to go into the practice room.

“Wait, wait! I want to talk to you for a second.”

“About what?”

“Here, um...can we go in here for a second?” Without waiting for Hartley to answer, Cisco pulled him into the practice room and closed the door after them. “Good. Okay. Now you don't have to worry about anyone hearing us.”

Hartley stood stiff, confused. “What's…”

“Are you okay?” Cisco said quickly. “You looked awful during class this morning. And you left for ten minutes and came back looking like you had been crying.”

Self-consciously, Hartley reached up to touch his face. “I didn't…”

“Don't worry, it wasn't obvious. But I've hidden enough breakdowns in school that I can recognize the signs.” Cisco gestured for him to sit down on the piano bench as he made himself comfortable on the chair. “Come on, you can talk to me.”

“I would have thought you wouldn't want to talk to  _ me _ anymore, after what Caitlin must have told you. It's all true, you know. I'm a terrible person. I'm mean, I don't make friends…”

Cisco shrugged. “I prefer to form my own opinions. Caitlin seems really, really nice. You don't. But ‘nice’ is subjective, and I think there's more to you than just ‘not nice’.”

Hartley just didn't know how to respond to that, so he kept quiet.

“I just want to make sure we're clear on something. No matter how mean you are, or how much you ignore me or anyone else, I'm  _ not  _ going to out you. No matter what.” Cisco looked absolutely vehement about this, and he leaned forward to look Hartley in the eye. “And I don't know for sure if  _ that's  _ what made you feel so awful this morning, was thinking I might out you, but if it was, I just need you to know that it won't happen. Full stop.”

“I...yeah. Thanks.”

Cisco must have noticed that Hartley didn't sound fully convinced, because he hesitated for a second and then said, “Here. I'm going to tell you something, that nobody else here--except a few people in admin--knows. Listen, I'm trans. I'm transgender, I'm a trans guy. When I told you the other day that they sent me the wrong size of uniform, I wasn't being honest. They sent me the wrong gender, because there's a great big F on my file, and it ain't one of my grades. So I really,  _ really  _ understand the terror of being outed in an unsafe environment, and I would  _ never  _ do that to someone else. No matter how terrible they were.” Cisco took a breath. “Tell me you understand that.”

Reeling, Hartley could only nod for a moment. “I...I understand,” he managed after a few seconds. “And...I won't tell anyone, either.”

Cisco nodded. “I appreciate that. It's nice to be somewhere nobody knows me from before my transition started. I wasn't really planning on telling anybody, but I thought it might help in this situation. I was going on trust. See, it works out pretty well sometimes.” He stood up. “So, I'm glad we could talk. I hope it made you feel a little better? And like I said, I form my own opinions. If you want to talk, if you want to be friends, even...it doesn't matter what anyone else says. All that matters to me it's what  _ you  _ do and say. See you ‘round, Hartley.”

They did see each other around. As time went on and Cisco still hadn't outed him, Hartley became less anxious about it. He also became a lot more comfortable competing with Cisco, which, as it turned out, was actually challenging. Cisco was brilliant. Almost as smart as Hartley.

To everyone else, their rivalry appeared vicious and hateful. Almost everyone was on Cisco’s side, but they didn't understand.

“I can't believe they're all still falling for it,” Hartley said, shaking his head.

“Well, I fell for you. Anything is possible.”

They were lying side by side in Cisco’s backyard, holding hands and looking up at the stars. “I snuck out of my house for you,” Hartley said. “That's practically a miracle.”

“Yeah,” Cisco sighed. “And I'm genuinely flattered, but we have to get you home soon.”

“Or else my parents will kill me,” Hartley agreed.

Cisco wrapped his arms around Hartley’s chest. “I don't want you to go,” he whined. “I was so happy when you tapped on my window. Like a fairy tale.”

Hartley kind of tensed up. He was completely fine with holding hands now, but full body contact made him nervous. He just wasn't used to having much physical affection.

“You okay?” Cisco checked.

“Um…”

At the hesitation, Cisco pulled away from him. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I forgot, we're not there yet.”

“No...it's okay.” Slowly, Hartley moved a little closer, until he was pressed up against Cisco’s side. “We can be there.”

“Hmmm,” Cisco mumbled happily. “Hey...does that mean we can be at the point where I can kiss you?”

Hartley’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes.” He surprised himself at how quickly he said it, and that he didn't immediately want to take it back.

Cisco sat up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Hartley sat up as well.

“I can kiss you?”

Hartley took his hands. “Yeah,” he said again. “I'd like that.” He was trembling a little, nervous. He'd never actually kissed a boy before.

“Are you sure?”

Hartley laughed shakily. “You're making me wonder if  _ you  _ really want to.”

Cisco leaned in and kissed him gently. “Still wondering?”

“Oh,” Hartley breathed. “Oh.”

“Okay?” Cisco made sure.

In response, Hartley kissed him again. “I need to go home,” he whispered.

“I know.” Cisco helped him to his feet. “I'll drive you as far as I can. Are you really going to climb up the back wall onto the balcony?” They went into Cisco’s house through the back door.

“Yeah. It's not too hard, I've done it before. Usually in the daytime, but…” Hartley stopped short. A boy a little older than them in a t-shirt and shorts was standing in the kitchen, getting a glass of water at the sink.

“Hey, Dante!” Cisco said.

“Hey,  _ hermanito. _ Who's this?”

Hartley shrank back, but Cisco took his hand reassuringly. “This is Hartley,” Cisco said.

“Hi, Hartley,” Dante greeted. “Any particular reason you were in our backyard at 1 in the morning?”

“Leave him alone,” Cisco scolded. “I'm about to drive him home.”

“If you say so.” Dante shrugged and took his glass of water down the hallway. “Night, guys. Don't drive too recklessly, Cisquito.”

“I'm not the one who crashed the truck last month,” Cisco retorted.

“It was the other guy’s fault!”

“Yeah, yeah. G’night, Dante.” Cisco ushered Hartley out of the house and into an old silver car. It smelled a little like fast food and a little like a stale pine-scented air freshener. “Okay, you've gotta give me directions, because I don't know where I'm going.”

Hartley guided him turn by turn until they were a street away from his house. “I'll walk the rest of the way,” he said. “You can't get any closer to the gate without having to go through it, and that would be marked in a log which my parents might see. I can get back without anyone noticing.”

“You sure you'll be okay?”

“I'll be fine.” Hartley tried to smile. “I'll see you on Monday.”

“Hey...why did you come over?” Cisco asked. “I mean, I'm not complaining, but I am curious. Was there some particular reason?”

_ I missed you? I was lonely? I felt myself slipping into a panicked, depressive spiral and I needed you?  _ “Just because,” Hartley ended up saying.

“Alright, well...be safe. Sleep well. See you Monday.” Cisco reached across the console to squeeze Hartley’s hand.

“Goodnight.” Hartley got out of the car and walked quietly down the street. He scaled the back wall without incident and went to bed, unable to fall asleep with the memory of the kisses swirling around his head and making his heart flutter.  _ Like a child with a crush _ , he scolded himself. But he hugged his pillow to his chest and smiled a little. “He wanted to kiss me,” he whispered. “He wanted to kiss  _ me _ .” With that thought making him feel warm and happier than he had felt in a long time, he managed to fall asleep.


End file.
